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Chapter Eight - Fatherhood and First Signs (PART CHAPTER)

CHAPTER EIGHT

FATHERHOOD AND FIRST SIGNS

A Dirty, filthy rat had entered my soul in Paris and its sharp teeth gnawed deep into my heart on my way home to Elizabeth and my newborn daughter. It was a long and painful journey, more agonizing than I could ever have imagined. I was soon to arrive back at Adderbury and in moments of panic, I fought for composure.

An overjoyed and excitable Elizabeth walked briskly towards me with Anne in her arms, welcoming my return. I looked down at this little bundle and spied there the sweetest little face I have ever seen. Tears filled my eyes.

“She is every bit as beautiful as I imagined, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Could she be anything else, being the daughter of my beloved John?”

I put my arms around my dear wife, first kissing her and then the child and we made our way into the house. Elizabeth then handed our little Anne to Beatrice Leafield; a trusted and dependable wet-nurse who had attended the child since the birth and who now took Anne into a private room to suckle her.

We entered the dining room just off the hall, where Elizabeth had ordered that dinner be served. I was ravenous from my long journey and tucked in to wild duck, and roast leg of lamb from stock reared by one of our tenant farmers. As we sat eating, Elizabeth asked me about my time in France. I raised my glass and toasted Louis XIV as the most pompous and foppish King I, or anyone, could ever have the misfortune to meet.

“But you liked Louis the first time you met, John.”

“Yes I know, but I was much younger then and most overawed by the splendour of the occasion.”

“Why then, John, did you not approve of the Sun King this time?”

“Sun King? His piercing rays blind most in his presence, but not me,” I declared.

And so, I was obliged to tell Elizabeth of the foolhardy incident with young Tom Killigrew when I had been in the presence of King Charles. This she frowned at, and showed great annoyance at such unruly behaviour. Her ensuing silence at this news put me ill at ease again for a while, but after a time we set to talking again, putting the whole nasty incident behind us. We sat conversing at great length about our dear child. I could see in Elizabeth’s face that she was a most proud mother and loved Anne very much, as too did I.

Beatrice came into the room and told us that Anne was now in her cot, so I went with Elizabeth to the nursery where our daughter lay. We knelt beside the cot and gazed at our dear child with such contentment.

“I hope you are not ill-pleased, John, at her being a girl.”

“No, Elizabeth. She is so precious to me.”

We left the nursery, and Anne to her slumbers, and I feeling particularly tired prepared for bed. Elizabeth said she would join me before long but had one or two duties to attend before she retired.

As I made my way to our bedchamber, I felt a sudden, sharp stab of pain and became aware of a soreness in my cods and an uneasiness of my prick. I quickly undressed and inspected the offending member and found an inflamed ulcer, which surprisingly was not sore to the touch. I knew immediately the route by which my thing had become infected. The Paris brothels had offered pleasure, but at a price. I climbed into bed and wondered how I would tell Elizabeth so soon after my return that I must travel to London. I knew that I must secure early treatment and until cured, my love for my dear wife would prevent me bedding her for fear of passing on this evil and disgusting pox.

Two days later, I made arrangements to travel to the City, and to my great surprise, Elizabeth was quite calm and happy about my going. I believe the arrival of our daughter now gave Elizabeth a more contented mind. She kissed me goodbye and expressed her wish for my speedy return.

I arrived in London making straightway for Whitehall and my lodgings there. I met with my friends Henry Savile and George Etherege, and we made our way to the Dog Tavern in New Palace Yard to drink and talk after my absence abroad. We discussed the comings and goings of the King’s courtesans. George said that Barbara still ranked high in His Majesty’s favour, but others now had become part of his intrigue, in particular his lovely Nelly. Mistress Gwyn had left the gilded stage and become another of the King’s mistresses. This transition from her performing on stage to performing in the King’s bed had taken place during my absence abroad. Barbara had been unperturbed at this new rival, but we all knew that, sooner or later, young, pretty chestnut haired Nelly, whose comic wit and dainty breasts no man on earth could resist, would charm the King to her favour. She had captivated her audience as comedienne with her witty prologues or the dancing of jigs, which could not be bettered by any actress. We all raised our cups and drank a health to our dear sweet Nelly; our tragic loss but the King’s most pleasurable gain.